The Sky Is Our Shelter
by EndlessBlue
Summary: A follow-up to "Bound Home." Two years later, Guy and Djaq spend an eventful night in the woods.


**A/N: **A reader requested a little follow-up to _Bound Home. _That was ages and ages ago, and even though I doubt anyone remembers that other story, I've just finished this today (finally) and wanted to post it. Unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes. Please feel welcome to point them out if you review.

Just like _Bound Home_, this switches between points of view. First is Guy, followed by Djaq (Saffiya).

Thank you for reading.

* * *

The harvest is finished, the weather is still mild, and the skies give no sign of rain. She takes his hand and pulls him out of the house, laughing.

"Just like old times!"

"I'd really rather not..."

"Don't be a tree in the mud." She tugs harder. He stumbles along after her.

"Stick in the mud. Not tree." He doesn't see her roll her eyes, but he knows her well enough to have absolute certainty that she did. "Why on earth the idea appeals to you so much, I cannot fathom."

She twists around to face him, walking backwards, and begins pulling on him with both hands. The sunshine is warm and golden – it is not yet four o'clock, he estimates. Time enough to have a lark and be back in the house for a bath and a hot meal. He will indulge her this far.

"You don't think it will be fun?" All teasing is gone from her voice. She is genuinely surprised. "Don't you miss it? The quiet, the freedom -"

"The dirt, the danger, the discomfort," he continues. He could lengthen his stride so as to walk at her side, but he rather likes the feel of her hands tugging so insistently on his. She is brimming with child-like glee. The sun competes with the brightness of her eyes, and he, as usual, finds the sun lacking.

"Oh, I didn't know you were frightened of deer."

This time he is the one who rolls his eyes. "Not what I meant," he mutters, though he knows she is purposefully trying to needle him.

She laughs at her success. He feels his mouth tug up into a smile at the sound, a reflex as natural and unstoppable as a flinch.

He smiles so much these days. He never thought he would have so much happiness, and now it is his constant state, tempered only by a darkness that can edge into his thoughts when the past tries to seep into the present. But there are always shadows around the light. It is the way of things. He understands he will have both in his life until his dying day, and he fears neither. She has walked with him into those shadows (she's not afraid of anything, he's come to find). She knows, too, that the darkness will always remain. She refuses to dwell in it.

She has always, he thinks, been the braver one.

Although it is manifesting itself right now in a rather ridiculous way. "There's sentimentality, dearest, and then there is foolishness."

She ignores him. She's turned back around to lead the way into the forest that lines the eastern edge of their land. It is as dense and beautiful as Sherwood, and though his steward mapped the property only so far as its boundaries, he imagines his part of the forest must eventually join with Sherwood proper some miles further east.

He looks north toward where Loxley lies, three miles away. He wonders briefly how Robin's harvesting went. Their brother Archer flits between the two estates like a restless hound, always trying to sniff out which of his kin has the best wine and the best gossip. He is invariably disappointed in what he finds. He threatens to leave them all again to pirate the shores of Cyprus. Robin threatens to find him a wife. Guy stays out of it, and keeps Saffiya supplied with news of their squabbles so she can laugh at them both.

He imagines his brothers would be the ones laughing if they could see him now. _Positively horse-whipped, _he thinks with contentment. His wife's hold on his hand slackens as she ducks beneath the first row of branches and takes him into the forest.

"Are we just exploring, or did you have in mind a full-scale reenactment?"

"Hm? Oh," she replies absently, pushing past dried-out branches still full of their leaves. "I just wanted to look around." She shoots him a grin from over her shoulder that lets him know she isn't being entirely truthful. "Maybe get a rabbit or two for supper-"

"We're not _eating _out here tonight-"

"We're staying in the woods until morning, Guy." She gestures to the bow slung over her back. "I didn't bring this for nothing. I mean to have a real experience."

"Did you happen to pack a blanket and some water in that quiver, as well?"

"Are you going to complain the whole time?"

"I just...don't see the point of it."

She stops and turns around. "You really don't miss it?"

He raises a brow. "Homelessness? Can't say that I do." She's talking of course about his days as part of Robin's band of outlaws. But the question resurrects fears and indignities from his adolescence, ones that always sit close to the surface no matter how far away in his past they are; he fights the sudden and ridiculous urge to be irritated with her.

"Don't you remember what it was like?" she continues, oblivious to the shadows in his eyes because instead of looking at her he is studiously examining a nearby tree. "To wake up and not know what adventure Robin was going to take you on that day? Dragging a deer back to the camp and praying you get there without a bear catching wind of you. The birds nesting in the branches right beside your bunk because you feed them so well, watching the chicks hatch and grow and fly off to make nests of their own. Everyone huddled together around the fire at night even though you've done nothing but fight with each other all day." She lets out a throaty laugh. "Much was always upset at someone, but he hated the cold. The look on his face sometimes when he had to squeeze in with everyone else at the fire to keep from freezing..."

"Yes, well..." he murmurs, "My memories are a bit different."

She takes a deep breath of the cool afternoon air, seeming to relish the scent of it. Her tone is dismissive. "Surely they weren't all bad. You and the lads got on eventually."

"Eventually," he concedes, and leaves it at that. Saffiya is in her own world, and doesn't see fit to answer.

There are times when her practical nature throws more sensitive feelings in the shade, when she scoffs at his sadness and self-pity. Her obvious lack of interest in soothing him now causes a momentary ache of loneliness (as he wonders yet again why she is with him, why she loves him, if she really _does _love him, why she puts up with him), but he knows it will soon pass. Her carelessness will be later softened by a gentle touch to his brow; his dejection will be forgotten when they share a private joke over dinner. She's learned to be patient with him, and he's learned to stop being so afraid.

She has improved him these past two years, and he openly thanks her for it sometimes, when his admiration for her swells so great that it must be put into words.

He would tell her now, but his admiration has been dampened by the fact that she intends to force him to spend a night in the middle of the forest.

She suddenly sets off at a determined pace, and he gives a long-suffering glance to the trees around him before following in her steps.

"Where are we going now?"

"To find somewhere clear enough to build a fire. You can get it ready while I hunt."

"You mean you dragged me out here so I could sit by myself in the dirt all afternoon?"

"It won't take me long to snag a few rabbits, I should think. They're all about, getting their food for winter."

"Saffiya..."

"Over there looks nice – what do you think?"

She doesn't stop to hear his opinion. The clearing is adequate. It provides a nice spot of sky and sunlight, and the underbrush will be easily swept away to make room for a fire.

He's still clinging to the illusion that they aren't actually going to spend the night here as his wife waves farewell with a promise to return soon. "And can you gather some more wood?"

She hops off into the trees. He watches her for a moment, and then, with a sigh of defeat, begins to look around for kindling dry enough to start a fire.

To his surprise, the familiarity of the work turns his mind from resignation to a kind of pleasant nostalgia. After Nottingham Castle fell, the days had been filled with this kind of rote labor, the kind that didn't require thinking, only doing. The simplicity of it makes the next few hours pass quickly and fluidly. By the time the sun starts to skim the horizon, he has thoroughly explored the surrounding woods. He has found a little brook that he imagines must be runoff from the larger stream that runs close to the eastern edge of the main house, and in it he has washed off the handful of wild mushrooms he found as he foraged for wood. A robust fire crackles in the middle of the clearing. A stack of wood sits close by, and he belatedly realizes, after a pleasant few minutes staring at the darkening sky, that he has gathered enough to last all night.

His wife, it seems, always gets her way.

Saffiya is by far the more impetuous of the two of them, and in several ways the more capable. He doesn't worry for her safety while he waits. She survived in the forest far longer than he ever had need to.

His eyes are just starting to drift shut when he hears her footsteps cracking through the foliage. She wears a proud smile and holds up a pair of rabbits in each hand by way of greeting. He gets to work skinning and cleaning them while she uses the end of her bow to pound the handful of herbs and wild onions she found on her hunt. She rubs the mixture onto the meat and skewers the rabbits expertly. She and Guy take two each and hold them over the fire. She sits close to him, thigh against thigh, arm against arm.

"Is this day turning out to be all you hoped?" he asks while she stares up at the twilight sky.

She hums contentedly.

He lets out a soft chuckle and checks his rabbits to make sure they're cooking evenly.

She talks as they eat, sharing memories of her time as an outlaw. Whenever her recollections brush up against his defeats (his humiliations at Robin's hand), she trails off, looks at him from the corner of her eye, and then casually changes to a different day, a different story. Any other time, she might challenge him with those memories. She might tease him. His pride might suffer, or it might survive. But tonight she seems to prefer to keep the peace, and the twilight passes into evening with the air never turning uneasy between them.

She mentions Will often, and her voice always softens on his name. When she loses her place in one story (memories taking her from Sherwood to Palestine to Will's grave) he takes her hand and kisses it until she can shake off the reverie and smile and laugh with him again.

When the food and the stories are finished, he leads her to the brook so they can wash. She links hands with him as they pick their way through the dense woods back to the clearing. He takes pleasure in pushing branches out of her way, and is more pleased when she lets him.

When they are back within the warm reaches of the fire, she steps away from him and holds his eye.

"It is difficult to be alone at the house. There are always people about."

He inclines his head in acknowledgment of the truth of her words, while a frown creases his brow in confusion at their random nature. He wants to move toward her, but senses she would only take another step away.

"Don't you ever want to be alone? Haven't you missed that about the forest?"

He looks away to see a flickering stretch of memories. His voice, when he responds, is dry. "I wasn't really allowed to wander off much at the time. I seem to recall there being some concern over my trustworthiness."

Her eyes glimmer with amusement. "Well. If it's any consolation, no one could doubt you now."

"Oh, yes," he laughs softly in reply. "It is." He tests his theory by taking one step closer. She holds her ground for a moment, and then her eyes darken, and she backs up He quirks a brow. She shakes her head, a small smile playing at the edge of her mouth.

He is suddenly aware of what game his wife is playing when she grabs the bottom of her shirt with one hand and twists the hem between her fingers. Her hunting clothes are very rough and simple – men's trousers that sit low on her waist, and a long shirt with tight-fitting sleeves that won't snag on her arrows as she pulls to make a kill. The firelight deepens every curve. She runs a hand through her hair, and smiles.

"Nothing like the middle of the forest to be truly alone."

"Is this what...?" he asks on the breath he suddenly remembers to take. "Is this what you meant by all the..." He gestures vaguely at their surroundings, rendered tongue-tied by her beauty, by the effortless strength and confidence she radiates. He goes toward her on feet that feel as though they are not touching the ground.

She waits until he is a few inches away before answering. "Sometimes all I want is to be alone with you."

It is an honest and fierce declaration. He reaches for her. She sighs when his hands skim across her neck, and closes her eyes long before he leans in to capture her mouth with his.

* * *

She finds herself laughing again as he complains about the stiff blades of grass poking into his back. "Wish you'd had the forethought to bring a blanket out here," he says.

"I was aiming for an authentic experience!"

"I'd say you achieved that."

"...I am a bit hungry now."

"Well, there's some cheese left in the larder, and a loaf of - oh, but we're not at the house, are we? I keep forgetting."

She gives his arm a half-hearted slap. "Stop pretending you're not enjoying this."

He presses a kiss to her neck, and the heat of his breath against her skin raises a line of goosebumps in its path. "Very well. I'm awful at pretending, anyway."

"Yes, that is true."

"You told me that once, you know."

She twists around in his arms to look him in the eye – she can see him clearly in the light of the full moon. "Did I?"

"You don't remember? In Acre, when I first told you what had happened here in your absence. I wasn't sure if you believed me." He lifts one eyebrow. "You said I was too simple to come up with such an extravagant lie."

"Oh, yes," she said, nodding. "I remember." With a thoughtful frown, she adds, "I was not very nice to you, was I?"

"No," her husband answers with a soft laugh, that then becomes a sigh as he dips his head, drops his gaze. "You had no reason to be." She fears that he has gone from her again, back to the dark places where shame and guilt and Marian live. But soon, perhaps soothed by the solid feel of her body next to his, and by the crickets and frogs and the swaying of Sherwood's trees above them, he looks at her and she sees he is content. "You were better than nice," he whispers into her ear. "You were honest. And brave." He lowers his head to kiss her again, and she feels him murmur against her cheek, "And for the record, you've gotten much nicer since then."

She laughs and tugs his chin up so she can give him a proper kiss. "I am glad you think so."

Her belly tightens, flutters – she wants to badly to tell him now. He's looking at her with adoration and desire, and she wants to make him happy. She _knows _this will make him happy.

"Guy..."

"Mm?"

He plays idly with one of her hands, fingers gently rubbing and twisting, but his eyes never leave hers.

She takes a deep breath. She is nervous, but as soon as the words begin, her mouth stretches into an irrepressible grin. "We are going to have a child next spring."

She wants to wait for his reaction before expressing her own joy, but it's too late – her eyes have filled with tears and she trembles against him.

Guy's mouth has gone slack. His hand, wrapped around hers, stills.

He darts a glance at her stomach, but there is only the slightest swell. She has waited for nearly three months to tell him, knowing from experience the need to be sure (twice she failed with Will; the first time they grieved together, and the next she grieved alone, a secret she kept long after his dying day). Her medical knowledge combined with Matilda's have given her confidence that this child will stay. It is real, it will grow and be born and she will – when winter is passed and spring is awakening – hold this unknown babe in her arms and put it to her breast. She will be a mother. She _is _a mother.

And Guy is a father, which he seems to be very, very slowly coming to terms with.

"I-" he says. His mouth closes, and he shakes his head. But soon his lips begin to slide into a smile, and before he can say anything else she bursts out with giddy laughter, shaking in his arms, and her tears fall freely. She plants wet kisses on his lips and cheek. He returns them halfheartedly, still in a state of shock.

"Say something!" she demands, laughing yet more. She cannot contain her happiness. She feels she is going to explode, like Greek fire is lit within her chest.

Guy splutters some more, shaking his head, his smile growing wider. There is more spluttering. A minute passes, and he still has not completed a sentence.

Her laughter is irrepressible. "Can you believe it? Guy? We're going to be a family!"

"You're giving me a child," he eventually says, sounding out of breath. His eyes still hold a dazed expression, so she burrows into his arms and decides to give him some more time to get his thoughts sorted. She is satisfied that the news is welcome, which is all that matters.

When he finally comes around and can speak coherently, he squeezes her tightly and presses soft, tender kisses to her hair, and asks her about dates and names, preparations that must be made at the house, whom to tell and when. She's already been asking herself the same questions, so her answers are delivered with a decided air.

Her tears slowly dry, and the wonder of the moment fades to something quieter. She smiles to herself as they turn silent and wander into their own private thoughts. She knows that this night, this moment, will be forever etched into her memory, knows that it has changed everything (for the better, only for the better), and from this point on she and Guy will be something even more to each other.

The minutes continue to pass in silence, and she spends them wondering what their child will look like.

The stars wink at her from above. Her eyes slip closed, and she is lulled to sleep by the gentle rhythm of her husband's breathing. Dream-like snippets of waking slip in and out of her awareness: Guy murmuring in his sleep; needing to turn over to ease the stiffness in her neck; whispering _I love you _into his ear and hearing him say it back while nuzzling closer to her.

She is startled awake shortly before dawn when Guy shifts away, leaving her suddenly chilled. She blinks at the gray-pink sky as he stretches and sighs.

"My back hurts," he says in greeting.

"Mm. My everything hurts."

"Wonder if that's related to sleeping on the ground."

"You can keep pretending you didn't love this idea."

He presses a quick kiss to her cheek. "It was indeed memorable. But I want a bath and a hot meal." He stands and holds a hand out for her to use to leverage herself up.

She grins slyly at him, and when she's up she throws her arms around his neck and rocks him side to side in an energetic embrace. "A bath and a hot meal for my poor darling husband! I can deny him nothing!"

"Oh, enough, you," he mutters back. She knows he is only faking his irritation. (Even if he really was irritated, she loves teasing him too much to ever stop.) "Come on, then, darling wife. Back to the house."

They tidy up what's left of the campfire and begin their walk through the forest hand-in-hand. Djaq reflects that she really is quite sore – but she refuses to repent of their little adventure. Besides, after a few months there will be no adventuring at all. Already she is tiring far more quickly than she is used to. Matilda has advised her to be prepared for even less-desirable symptoms. Djaq acquaints Guy with these symptoms as they walk, and he is bewildered at their extent.

"And all mothers go through this?" he asks, frowning.

"Plenty. Each woman is different – each pregnancy is different. Some are easier than others."

"Heaven forbid you be one of the difficult ones. You are the picture of health. Surely you won't..."

She squeezes his hand. "I'm not worried. I _am_ a physician, remember?"

In truth, there are many worries, but she will keep them to herself, and perhaps Matilda. Her husband is far too prone to anxiety as it is. She has grown to be protective of his peace of mind. (And anxious men tend to just get in the way. She decides to keep this to herself, too.)

By the time they approach the main house the sun has risen just above the horizon. A few servants are already up and about, tending to their chores. Djaq guides Guy to a rarely-used entrance, and together they stealthily make their way upstairs. She can only imagine the looks the household would give them for arriving in such a state – sticks in their hair, clothes rumpled, grinning like teenagers. (Well, _she's _grinning like a teenager. Guy is too busy concentrating on making sure his boots don't hit the creaky spots on the stairs. He's gotten better at sneaking about, she notes fondly.)

They quickly make themselves presentable and arrive at the breakfast table just as a villager is dropping off fresh-baked rolls and meat pies. Djaq thanks her warmly and hands over the packet of medicinal herbs she prepared yesterday for the woman's husband, with firm instructions as to their use. When she has finished, she turns and finds Guy already halfway done with one of the pies.

"You remember we _did _eat last night."

"We did a lot of things last night, thank you," he grunts. "Worked up an appetite. Don't tell me you're not hungry."

"Starving," she admits with a shameless wink, and snatches up the other half of his pie and begins to tear into it.

Once they have finished eating, Djaq slides into his lap and wraps her arms around his neck. He stares down at her in wary surprise, and then glances around to see if anyone else is nearby. She grins up at him. "Just saying hello to the proud father."

His expression immediately softens. "Oh. Well."

"Is that alright?"

"Alright. Yes." He shakes his head. "Sorry, yes. More than alright. I still can't get my head around it. I'm going to be a father, Saffiyah."

"Yes, you are."

"And you're going to be a mother."

Her grin widens – even now, her breath catches in her chest at the thought of it. "Yes. I am."

"And we're going to have a beautiful, healthy child. And perhaps ten more."

"Oh. Is that so."

"Haven't we discussed this?"

"No specifics."

"Ten is a nice, round number."

"You're going to have a nice, round wife in a little while, and she might have something to say about future children."

"I'll be sure to take your views into consideration."

Her attempt at glaring at him fails miserably when he gives her that little smirk she loves so much, and she dissolves into laughter. He smiles more broadly, always pleased with himself when he can make her laugh.

She knows they must each get up and tend to their separate duties soon – the day has started, and much is required of the master of the house. She has her rounds to make in the village (Widow Thomas' nephew is still coughing, little Margaret Mays needs her arm looked at to see how the break is healing). But she lays her head on Guy's shoulder and sighs and decides to steal just one more minute of this morning.

She feels him rest his chin on her hair. His breath is warm across the top of her head.

"I love you," she says.

He inhales deeply – she rises with the swell of his chest, descends on his exhale. "You can't know how much I love you," he murmurs into her ear, and then continues even more quietly. "How...grateful I am to you. You've given me everything, Saffiyah. A home. A future." His arms tighten around her. "A family. Thank you." He tilts his head to press a kiss to her temple.

She pulls back and gazes up at him, deeply affected by the gravity in his eyes. She won't reject his gratitude, won't tell him it's unnecessary. She knows what he once was, and she knows how she's changed him. She knows what he would be without her. It's an unsettling thought, but it only makes her cherish even more the man he's become.

"You're going to be a wonderful father, Guy," she tells him, knowing, as she knows so many other things about him, that it's what he needs to hear.

He gives her a small smile in reply. He doesn't quite believe her because he is still a bit broken in places, still wondering if he can build something good out of the evil of his past. But it's alright if he doesn't believe in himself. She knows that will come with time.

Until then, she'll keep believing enough for the both of them.


End file.
